


The Great and the Bloody

by Lemur710



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M, MMA, Mixed Martial Arts, Some descriptions of violence and injury, all-human AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 05:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12977421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemur710/pseuds/Lemur710
Summary: It’s fight night at Pandemonium, featuring Isabelle Lightwood vs. Camille Belcourt in the cage. But Isabelle’s cornerman, Alec, may be a little distracted by the venue’s attractive owner.





	The Great and the Bloody

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theswandive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswandive/gifts).



> My first AU in any fandom ever. Yikes!
> 
> Now with [gorgeous fanart](https://ksgsworld.tumblr.com/image/173587848623) by [Kionemv](http://kionemv.tumblr.com/).

Alec wiped the sweat from his forehead as he tried to focus on the early morning traffic and the Fall of Rome playing through the speakers. In the passenger seat beside him, Isabelle nodded absently to the pulsing rhythm of the electronic dance music on her headphones.

“There is no duty more obligatory than the repayment of kindness,” the historian quoted Cicero, just as Alec reached up to pause the podcast.

“Which exit is it?” he asked.

Izzy’s bobbing head continued, fingers tapping with a plastic crinkle against her thigh. 

“Hey!” Alec elbowed her. “Where are we going?”

Izzy dropped her headphones to loop around her neck. The music kept pounding through them, too hype and aggressive for so early in the day, in Alec’s opinion. Not that Rome’s destruction was particularly peaceful. Izzy scrolled through her phone, nails trimmed short, but painted bright red. “Thirty-five B,” she said finally.

“On the right?”

“Most exits are on the right, Alec.”

“Hey, don’t get snippy. I’m doing you a favor.”

“Sorry,” she grumbled. “I’m thirsty. And hot.”

“Yeah.” Alec pushed his t-shirt against his skin to soak up the drop of sweat sliding down his chest. “Can we turn the heat off now?”

“No. This chick’s manager said she won’t take the fight if I’m an ounce over 125.” She adjusted the blowers, aiming them at herself even though they already were, and turned the heat up high, even though it already was. She’d been wearing the crinkly plastic sauna suit since the night before, trying to sweat out every extra drop of water weight. 

“I’m not sure I like you taking a fight on short notice with a fighter we know nothing about at a venue I’ve never heard of.”

Izzy shrugged, and Alec supposed it was that casual recklessness that made her the fighter and him the driver in this scenario. “I’ve read her Wikipedia page,” she said.

“She has a Wikipedia page? Do you have a Wikipedia page?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, Alec. It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay. So tell me about her.”

“Camille ‘The Bloody’ Belcourt,” Isabelle read.

Alec shook his head. “Fight names…”

“Couple of her fights are on YouTube. See?”

She turned her phone to him and Alec glanced over just in time to see a dark-haired woman slam her opponent with a sharp, fight-ending left hook. 

“That her getting clocked or doing the clocking?”

“Doing the clocking. She’s undefeated.”

Alec took in a deep breath.

“And so I am, Alec.”

“Damn right, you are,” he said, veering the conversation away from dangerous territory. “That’s going on your Wikipedia page that I’m going to create when we’re at the hotel.”

Izzy laughed.

Alec never did enjoy watching his little sister fight, or seeing those bruises and black eyes heal, but ever since she was little, a Happy Izzy was always a bit rumpled. She didn’t feel like herself if she wasn’t elbows-deep in entrails for an autopsy, or her knuckles raw from gi burn and learning a new collar choke. It was something his parents never understood about her. But then, his parents didn’t understand a lot about him either.

“Raphael says it’s all okay," she said. "His text says, ‘Magnus Bane is a good man.’” 

“Magnus Bane. Now that’s a good fight name. ‘Great’ Bane. Bane of your existence.”

Izzy looked at him, silent, clueless.

“Magnus means ‘great’ in Latin,” Alec explained.

“Okay. I don’t think he’s a fighter, though. He just owns the venue. The fight night’s this charity thing he does for a teen shelter. That place that Raphael talks about, remember? For queer and trans youth? He’s known Magnus forever.”

“Oh.” Alec shrugged. “Cool name.”

Off the 35B exit into the city, shining office buildings surrounded the Pandemonium nightclub and the only parking was a four-story garage attached to the Radisson hotel. Signs declared anything closer to be “For Deliveries Only.” 

A van marked “Downworld Warriors” sat idling outside the service doors, their fighters climbing out with their gym bags and gear. 

“You’re a delivery,” Alec said as he and Izzy cruised by the otherwise dim, unimpressive building. “I could drop you off.”

“Nah, go park at the hotel. I can sweat more on the walk over.” 

In fact, Izzy chose to jog over, conveniently forgetting that that left Alec to carry her gym bag and her cooler filled with water and Powerade, along with his own backpack. But Luke always reminded them that a focused fighter was a ready fighter, and a focused fighter was sometimes an oblivious fighter. Alec shuffled slowly after her, actually sort of enjoying the empty city sidewalks on a cool, sunny morning.

A few minutes later, he struggled through the door of the nightclub in time to hear a voice greeting his sister. “You must be Isabelle,” the man said fluidly. “Raphael told me to look for the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”

Alec suppressed an eye roll. It wasn’t the worst line he’d heard a guy give Izzy, and at least the guy followed it up with information for a fighter, not an invitation to his private suite at the Radisson (Alec had heard Izzy get that one before).

Inside, Pandemonium seemed gray. Gray in a way that nightclubs always seemed during the day. No flashing lights or sparkling people. Just strained sunlight revealing an open space that felt more like a warehouse than a dance floor. But as Alec set down Izzy’s bags, he noted that the place looked clean. No disturbing stains on the fancy velvet couches along the walls, no dust clinging to the liquor bottles, and the only unpleasant smell Alec detected was the familiar musky stink of his sister’s boxing gloves. Alec glanced around and pondered that he might actually be the dirtiest thing in here. 

“Who are you?” he heard that same voice breathe.

“That’s my brother. He’s cornering for me,” Isabelle answered as she disappeared through a far door, and Alec turned to see the most incredible-looking person gliding toward him. He blinked, trying to take in every bit—and everywhere he looked was something to admire from the dark liner around darker eyes to the handsome goatee around perfect lips to the glittering necklaces against a strong, broad chest to the fitted slacks to the—were those shoes suede? And how did a person _move_ like that?

“I’m Magnus,” the man said smoothly. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

“Alec.” The smile on his face felt decidedly dopey.

And this man, Magnus, smiled back at him, all flowing confidence, shoulders swaying. “I expected to see Luke this morning,” he said.

“Oh, um. He’s on his honeymoon. So—so you get me.”

“Do I?” The tone in Magnus’s voice sent strange heat down Alec’s spine. 

“My sister—Isabelle—her water,” Alec stumbled, awkwardly lifting the cooler. “She’s thirsty.”

“I know the feeling,” Magnus said with a smirk, then he nodded. “Yes, you should join your sister. The weigh-ins are in the back room.”

Alec nodded once, short and distracted, then ran after Izzy, tripping over her gym bag before he remembered to carry it too.

He found her in a tidy storage room packed with other fighters and their coaches, the walls lined with boxes stamped with the names of fine liqueurs. His skin trembled as he stood next to her. “You have my towels?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah.” He heard Luke’s voice in his head again and muttered to himself. “Focus on your fighter, Lightwood. Focus on your fighter.”

So he followed Isabelle as she ducked into a nearby room. He paused at the door, reading a metal placard on the door that stated, “Restroom - Gender not enforced nor required,” then walked in to help Isabelle peel herself out of her disgustingly sweaty sauna suit. 

Usually Alec liked going to weigh-ins. Nothing but dozens of men in fighting shape, dropping down to their underwear to flex and step on the scale. But his gaze kept sliding over to Magnus as he strolled in and out, answering questions from Duncan, the representative from the athletic commission; talking with caterers; directing crews arriving with chairs, tables, and the massive chain-link walls of the cage. None of the nearly naked athletes with their youthful aggression could compare to Magnus’s casual competence, the way he moved like the lord of a kingdom. 

Leaning against the wall beside him, Isabelle noticed nothing, too distracted by hunger and thirst, mind focused, and her head bobbing to the beat pulsing through her headphones. She noticed, though, when Camille “The Bloody” Belcourt herself arrived an hour late.

Izzy’s opponent strolled in wrapped in a red silk robe, followed by an entourage of what Alec assumed were her training partners—women and men with round boxer’s shoulders and sculpted abs on display. He glanced at his sister, but if she was intimidated, it didn’t show. 

The other fighters, all the young and hungry guys ready to bang, parted for her like subjects before their queen, and Camille looked at them the same way. She strode across the room, high heels clicking on the concrete, and came to stand beside Commissioner Duncan and the scale.

“Hey, Camille,” Duncan greeted, and marked his clipboard with a sigh.

Alec peered around; no one seemed surprised she was late. And for that matter, Alec didn’t see Magnus Bane anywhere. 

“Where’s the other girl?” Camille asked. “I want to see her make weight before I bother taking off my shoes.”

Duncan read off his clipboard, “Isabelle Lightwood, Wolfpack MMA,” but Isabelle was already crossing to them, feet and body bare save for her sports bra and swimsuit bottoms. 

Alec felt the air stir beside him and tensed to realize it was Magnus sliding into Isabelle’s place. “Your sister looks like a real warrior,” he said.

“She is,” Alec replied, swallowing. Magnus smelled incredible, some masculine scent that Alec wanted on his skin, and he felt keenly aware of his shirt soaked by his own sweat, and Izzy’s sweat, and his unwashed hair and unshaven jaw.

“And you?” Magnus turned to him, back leaned against the wall.

“I still train, but I don’t—uh, I stopped competing a while ago.”

“Why’s that?”

“I didn’t want to get hit in the head anymore.”

Magnus laughed lightly. “Understandable.”

Alec’s eyes met Magnus’s and he searched for words to say, even if he could have just gazed at those brown eyes in silence for an embarrassingly long time. “You? I mean, do you—fight?”

“No, no. I’ve always just been fight adjacent.”

“How’d you end up fight adjacent?

“I dated Camille.” Magnus smiled a bit tightly.

“Oh.” Alec looked away, back to the scale, just in time to see Camille drop her silken robe to reveal matching deep-red lacy lingerie. The men around them let out hoots and appreciative whistles. Alec didn’t need to be attracted to her to know she was gorgeous.

“She does bring in a lot of money for the shelter,” Magnus continued, tilting his head toward Alec to be heard over the clamor. “Some love her, some hate her, but everybody pays to see her.”

Alec watched Camille’s toned, unblemished body on the scale and wished he could read on Magnus’s face how he felt about her now. He tugged the sleeve of his t-shirt down, as if it would do anything to hide the black ink decorating his arms, his scars or his coarse hair.

“I would say it's hard working with an ex, but it's really just Camille.” Magnus shrugged. “Duncan’s my ex, too, and he and I get along just fine.”

“Oh,” Alec said, and no other words came to his mind. Except maybe, _Oh, thank god._

Magnus cast him a glance, as if maybe that was exactly why he’d mentioned it. Alec breathed a little easier.

Izzy stalked back over to them. She didn’t acknowledge Magnus as she grabbed the Powerade from Alec’s hands, cracked the lid, and downed half of it in one go. “I need food,” she said.

At the same moment, a woman in a chef’s coat approached. “Mr. Bane?”

Alec and Magnus looked at one another. “Duty calls, for both of us,” Magnus said as he backed away to join the chef.

“Yeah,” Alec said, watching him go, and he turned to follow Izzy.

_______

In their small room at the Radisson, Alec dug through his backpack, searching for something—anything—nicer to wear. He smelled the armpits of a black button-down, forgotten, folded and wedged at the bottom. Wrinkled, but clean.

While Izzy sprawled on the bed devouring her pre-fight carbs and protein, Alec showered, shaved, and cleaned himself from head to toe. Steam billowed out the open door as he stood before the foggy mirror, tugging on his damp hair.

He didn’t notice Izzy standing in the doorway until she spoke. “Thought you were going to make my Wiki page,” she said knowingly, eyeing his clothes.

Alec glanced over. “Oh—I…um…”

She laughed and waved away his explanations. “You look nice.” She came in smirking and turned him toward her, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt.

“What’re you doing?” Alec swatted her hands.

“Show off some of those tattoos, big brother.” She grinned. “I bet Magnus likes them.”

Alec narrowed his eyes at her. Normal Izzy with food and water in her body was a dangerously perceptive creature.

_______

When they returned, Pandemonium had been transformed. A huge, six-sided ring sat in the center of the dancefloor on a dais, closed in on all sides by vinyl-coated chain-link fencing. Folding chairs with lush red cushions surrounded the cage and blue lights cast sparkling, magical patterns on the walls and floor. Caterers rushed back and forth, preparing food that smelled rich and savory, and Alec breathed in deep through his nose as he followed Isabelle through the red-velvet of the VIP section to the contained “fight stink” of the backroom where all the fighters warmed up and waited.

Hosting this lavish event turned Magnus into a ghost, a gilded, beautiful thing shimmering in and out of the room—but from the glances cast his way, Alec let himself imagine maybe the apparition appeared in the backroom more than necessary. Maybe Magnus was finding excuses to look at him, too. 

Magnus still cut the finer figure. He’d changed clothes as well, his earlier outfit only revealed to have been casual in contrast to his evening finery—a jacket lined with glittering metal studs and a blue vest fitted tightly over his chest. Rings glinted on his fingers, necklaces highlighting the incredible lines of his throat, and Alec had never understood until now how magical fashion could be on the body of a man who knew how to use it. 

And the kids. Teenagers from the shelter trailed after him like ducklings with their short-cropped hair dyed hot pink or spiked through with purple, wearing their best jeans and hoodies, or sundresses with fuzzy knitted cardigans. Magnus smiled and laughed with them, all at ease, like a favorite uncle. Or a perfect father. Alec remembered what Raphael had texted Isabelle: “Magnus Bane is a good man.” _You might have undersold that, Raph,_ he thought.

“You can go talk to him,” Isabelle said. 

“No, it’s—I’m here for you.” Alec returned his attention to layering gauze around his sister’s knuckles. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Alec.” She nearly rolled her eyes, but Alec also saw the glance that skittered over toward the corner where Camille warmed up with her coach. Alec could hear her harsh breaths and the smacks of glove against hand pads. He knew his sister well enough to know that she was nervous. She’d never faced an opponent as tough as Camille, and he’d been too distracted by Magnus to pay attention to the weigh-ins. Maybe Camille said something to her. Maybe Camille had actually managed to intimidate her. 

He tore the gauze, then pulled out a long strip of white athletic tape to secure her hand wraps. “So, Isabelle Sophia Lightwood—excuse me, _Doctor_ Isabelle Sophia Lightwood is an undefeated MMA fighter. Brown belt in jiu-jitsu and she’s won a ton of tournaments; we don’t even have enough room on Wikipedia to list all the tournaments she’s won. She got her doctorate in forensics in 20...15?”

“2016,” Isabelle corrected. “January 13th.”

“January 13th, 2016—so she can not only choke someone, but she can autopsy them and diagnose the cause of death afterward.”

Isabelle let out a laugh, followed by a steady sigh that Alec had wanted to hear. She rested her chin on her arms, gazing at him with a smile as he firmly taped her fists. “She’s a really, really bad cook—”

“Hey!”

“She once ruined pre-made cookie dough that her mom got for her brother’s birthday party—”

“That’s true...”

“But she makes a mean bowl of cereal. Oh, and she figured out that it was the mushrooms in the neighbor’s yard that were poisoning the chipmunks. Remember that, at the old house?”

“Oh, yeah!” Isabelle said, laughing, and Alec grinned just to hear her.

For once that night, he didn’t notice that magical Magnus Bane was in the room. He didn’t notice that Magnus Bane was watching him, watching them, with admiration in his eyes.

_______

A good-looking guy in a tailored suit joined the ring-girl in her evening gown in the cage. Both of them circled the mat to admiring hoots and cheers as they carried signs over their heads reading, “Round 1.” Alec had known of Magnus’s existence for all of eight hours, but it didn’t surprise him to see that the man had arranged for a “ring-girl” and a “ring-boy” for his guests.

And what guests they were. Alec straightened the collar of his Wolfpack hoodie over his button-down and reminded himself he was there as an athlete anyway. Everyone seemed to shine, in every way a person could shine. Alec tried not to gape at men walking through hand in hand, wedding bands prominent on their otherwise bare fingers. Women in puffy cocktail dresses introducing each other as “my wife.” It was dizzying. Dizzyingly beautiful in a way Alec hadn’t known was possible.

Among them, Camille “The Bloody” Belcourt had a lot of fans. They booed and screamed, leaning over the railing at Isabelle as she strode out from the backroom to take her place in the cage. During his own fighting days, this had always been the part Alec liked least. He loved to train and spar, part of him even loved to get out there and test himself against a fighter he didn’t know, but he never could thrive on the attention the way Isabelle did. 

“Yeah!” she cried, throwing her hands in the air. The crowd got louder as those who weren’t fans of Camille bellowed their support into the air, a battle of voices among the plush red chairs.

Isabelle’s grin glowed brightly as she strutted toward the cage, waving and winking at the crowd. She always made for a great show. Promoters loved her for it. Alec kind of loved her for it, too. He shook his head, laughing, and proudly followed her.

As Izzy got checked over by the cutman, Alec took his spot just outside the cage, near enough to talk to her during the fight. Near enough to coach and help. “Stay loose, Izzy,” Alec said, trying to keep his voice steady as she trotted to her corner on the mat. “Be first.”

Camille stalked like the cage like an animal, whatever coyness she’d shown at the weigh-ins burned away by aggression. She stared at Isabelle across the mat, eyes narrowed to dark slits. Her mouthguard showed red and white between her lips, fashioned to look like she had vampire fangs.

Isabelle cracked her neck and the referee chopped his hand down. “Fight!” he yelled.

Camille and Isabelle moved toward each other, fists up. For the first round, Izzy held her own, but just barely. The second round felt like a nightmare.

Alec had seen his sister in plenty of ugly fights, but Camille seemed faster, more brutal than all of them. Her every strike aimed to permanently damage, not just win the fight, and left—right—hook, a violent cross and Isabelle dropped to one knee. For only a fraction of a second, but it was worse than Alec had seen her do before. It meant she was hurt.

Isabelle turned toward him, pivoting on her foot and her left eye was a mound of red, swollen flesh. Blood poured down her chin from her nose. Even the crowd behind him reacted, the sound of a hundred people hissing in sympathy. And suddenly, Alec was four years old and holding the baby his parents brought him from the hospital and she was his, he called her his. And he was twelve and shouting back at his parents for making Isabelle cry, fighting for her in a way he never fought for himself. And he was nineteen and stealing his dad’s car in the middle of the night to pick up Isabelle from a friend’s house when everyone had gotten drunk and out of control, and he didn’t scold her or complain because at least she was safe, and they were together, and she was his baby sister. Alec _told_ Luke he couldn’t do this part. He could cheer for Izzy, he could train and spar and root for Izzy, but he couldn’t do _this_. He wanted to throw in the towel and just scream at the referee to _Stop this! Can’t you see she’s hurt? That’s my sister!_

He didn’t realize the ragged panic in his breath until he felt a steady grip on his elbow and Magnus at his side. “Hey, hey,” Magnus soothed. “It’s okay. She’ll be okay.”

Alec turned to him, let himself drink in the caring calm of his face. “Listen to me,” Magnus said, and Alec did, as though his life depended on it. “Your sister knows what she’s doing. She’s a warrior. Right now, she needs you as her coach. Help her see what she can’t.”

Alec heard the familiar click of the 10-second warning and the crowd’s cheering intensified along with the fight. He knew Izzy would be pouring out her last bit of energy before the end of the round.

“Camille drops her right with her hook,” Alec said.

Magnus smiled, warm and fond. “Yes, she does. And she can’t sprawl worth a damn. Tell Isabelle all of that. Go.”

The bell sounded the end of the round. Alec grabbed his cornerman’s bucket and ran up the steps into the cage. Isabelle’s injuries looked even worse up close. Alec’s gaze darted to the man, the stranger who felt like a friend, still standing outside the fencing. Magnus nodded comfortingly at him.

“Can you see?” he asked his sister.

“I can see. It’s okay.” She took the swig of water he offered her and winked with her good eye. “How do I look?”

“You look like a warrior, Dr. Lightwood.” 

A smile flickered across Isabelle’s broken lips. Alec pressed the cold metal of the Enswell against the hot, straining skin of her cheek and told her everything she needed to know to defeat Camille “The Bloody” Belcourt.

“Seconds out!” the ref shouted, and Alec left the cage. Magnus had waited for him and Alec fell in beside him, staring up at the third round in the cage.

Izzy rolled her shoulders, let out a breath, and stepped into the center of the cage with fists raised and first-round fire in her step. This is what Alec admired and loved about his sister. He made a mental note to tell Magnus about the time she’d been paired against a 200-pound jiu-jitsu champ at the PanAms, or the time she’d beat up a guy at school who kept unhooking the girls’ bras in the hallway, or the time she’d aced the SATs with a head cold. Isabelle had no quit in her.

And she wasn’t starting now. Camille threw one of those sharp, fight-ending left hooks—but Izzy bobbed and blasted a left hook of her own into that vampire-toothed grimace. In a flash, she’d dropped and slammed Camille to the ground.

“All right, Izzy! Yes! Stay heavy!” Alec screamed amid the cheering crowd.

In the cage, Isabelle dominated. Camille flailed on her back like a cockroach, trying to get a hold, but Izzy spun and grabbed her arm. Alec’s arm twinged in sympathetic memory as Isabelle clamped down the arm bar, forcing Camille’s elbow to painfully hyperextend. The 10-second warning clicked.

“Hold it! Stay tight!” Alec yelled.

Isabelle did. The clock counted down—and then, three seconds before the round ended, the pain was too much. Camille tapped.

The crowd erupted. Alec jumped on his feet, screaming, with Magnus cheering beside him and all the people behind them. Mixed in, some of Camille’s clan still booed and hollered insults, but Isabelle’s comeback had won most of them over. A wave of excited chanting roared through the room.

The ref stopped the fight and a second later, the timer buzzed the end of the round. Camille “The Bloody” Belcourt—undefeated no more.

Alec ran up into the cage as soon as the door opened and he lifted Izzy into a sweaty, triumphant hug. She grinned as best she could with a swollen eye and blood staining her mouthguard. Alec half-turned to bring Magnus into the embrace, but he wasn’t there. Because of course he wasn’t, Alec realized. They barely knew one another. Of course Magnus wouldn’t have come in. 

He glanced back to his spot through the fencing, but Magnus wasn’t there either. He was gone. But that made sense, Alec insisted to himself. Magnus was a busy person and this was his event. Of course, he didn’t have time to linger just for Alec. They were strangers. They didn’t know one another.

They were strangers.

_______

The quiet _plink-plink-plink_ of the dripping faucet in the bathroom soothed the hum in his ears from the screaming crowd just outside the door. Isabelle sat on the counter, eyes closed as Alec gently cleaned the blood from her chin and neck. He valued these moments almost as much as the victories. Izzy had patched a lot of his wounds, too—physical and otherwise. It made the distance from their parents a little easier.

Izzy hissed in pain as the cloth dragged over raw skin. “She hits hard for a tiny thing.”

“So do you, tiny thing,” Alec said. “And she’s the one with a loss on her Wiki page now.”

“True,” Izzy agreed, and fell silent again. She breathed steadily, calmly, under her brother’s care. “I’m surprised you didn’t freak out when I started bleeding.”

“I did, actually.” He rinsed the towel in the sink, staining the water pink. He hesitated, then added, “Magnus calmed me down.”

“He did?” Izzy opened her good eye.

Alec nodded, wiping carefully under her nose.

“Did you thank him? Or get his phone number?”

“No.”

“Alec,” she said, like he was the stupidest man in the world. “What are you doing? Go find him.” She snatched the towel from his hand.

“You’re hurt.”

“So what? You like him and you _never_ like people.”

Alec wanted to argue, he wanted to be by her side—but he wanted to see Magnus, too. And the thought tickled maddeningly at his mind that maybe he never wanted another day where he _didn’t_ see Magnus.

Alec burst out of the bathroom, feeling like the hero in a romantic comedy as he darted through the crowds watching the headlining fight. He didn’t know exactly where Magnus would be, but he didn’t see him among the sparkle and finery around the cage. He didn’t see him in the VIP section, or by the bar, so Alec rushed through the departing fighters to the backroom. 

And there, he saw him.

With Camille.

Alec halted, almost skidding on the concrete. Magnus stood placidly as the medics tended to Camille’s minor wounds. “I don’t know what you think you have without me,” she said to Magnus.

“We agreed upon a price, Camille. You didn’t specify a bonus should you lose.”

“Because I shouldn’t have lost.” She glowered at him. “Are you done?” she barked at the medic, who nodded and backed away, hands raised.

Alec watched them. For as much as they looked beautiful together—both dark-eyed, graceful and effortlessly fashionable—they looked utterly _wrong_ together. Magnus all warmth to Camille’s coolness, soulful to her sinful, a smile to her sneer. Camille showed almost no sign of the fight, save for a small mark by her eye and the ice pack the medic fastened to her elbow.

All he could think of was the blood pouring down Izzy’s chin and the ugly swell of her eye. He stared at the wounded expression on Magnus’s face and Alec wondered if that was the irony of calling her “The Bloody”—even when you defeated her, you were the one left bleeding.

Alec thought of Cicero and strolled into the room. “Magnus,” he said, as though he didn’t realize Camille was there. “You free for dinner?”

Magnus turned to him, his expression open in surprise. Alec glanced at Camille, just one cursory look. Just enough to be sure she knew he wasn’t scared of her any more than Izzy was. Camille smiled with only half her mouth, an unkind, nasty thing. 

Alec returned his gaze to Magnus and those bright, honest eyes. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you,” he said softly, hoping Magnus would hear the truth in the words. The soft curve of his lips seemed to say that he did.

“Of course, Alexander,” he breathed, then cleared his throat and tugged the hem of his vest. “I’m afraid we’ll have to adhere to the contract, Camille, unless you’d like to schedule an appointment for our lawyers to hash it out. You can add a ‘loss clause’ next time.”

“Maybe there won’t be a next time, Magnus,” she said, imposing as though the folding chair were a throne. “We’ll see how your little charity project does then.”

If Alec expected a cynical smile from Magnus, he didn’t get one. Instead, he looked upon Camille with disappointment, and sorrow. “You can do that, if that’s your choice. As they say, a true fighter reveals herself in defeat.”

Magnus turned his back on her and fell into step beside Alec as they left the room. Their shoulders brushed.

They walked in silence for few moments, just making it into the dim and comfort of the VIP section before Magnus tugged Alec to a stop and turned to him, sudden and sure. “Thank you,” he said. A heartbeat later, Alec felt Magnus’s lips pressed against his, gratitude raw even in the gentleness of his touch.

Alec couldn’t speak with Magnus so close, the heat of him so near. So near that he saw the worry begin to cloud Magnus’s features. “I’m sorry—” Magnus started.

Alec grabbed him by the lapels and kissed that worry away. 

As Alec drank in the scent and feel of him, some scattered thought reminded him that Magnus was a stranger, that he’d known this man for only a matter of hours. Truly, he didn’t know this man at all. But another, stronger part of him knew he _did_. He knew him and trusted him and couldn’t wait to learn everything else.

When they parted, Magnus’s smile was a blissful, radiant thing. “So where are we going for our first date? he asked.

Alec ducked his head, feeling a laugh glowing in his chest. _First date_ , and not a doubt that there would be a second, a third.

“We can stay here,” Magnus continued, “but my team knows what they’re doing and frankly, it might be nice to get away from work for a while.”

“Izzy always wants to eat her body weight in tamales after a fight.” Alec shrugged a little apologetically. “I know tamales with my sister’s not very romantic, but it’s—we’ve had this tradition since her first tournament—and I’d like you to come if—”

Magnus lifted a finger, nearly touching Alec’s lips to silence him. “I understand," he said. “I’d love to come."

Alec couldn’t help but smile, and watched those ring-gilded fingers drift away. “I left Izzy in the bathroom,” he said, as they stepped back out into the main room.

“She’s not now.”

Alec followed Magnus’s eyeline to the cluster of young people from the shelter. They surrounded Isabelle, fight programs held out for her autograph, cellphones clutched in their hands for selfies. 

“My family found yours,” Magnus said. “I spent time at the shelter after my parents...Well, that’s a story for another time, but it’s my second home. My chosen family, you could say.” He nodded toward a little girl with pretty brown skin and fluffy braids. “That’s my Madzie.” The girl beamed, stars in her eyes as she gazed at Isabelle and asked for her signature. “Looks like I might have another crowd pleaser, if your sister is interested in a more permanent arrangement.” 

Alec turned to him. _She’d love it_ , he thought to say. Or _You’re amazing_. Or _I didn’t know I could feel this way about someone_. A breathless “How did I not know you this morning?” came out instead. 

“I don’t know.” Magnus’s eyes shown open and honest. “But we know each other now,” he said, and slid his hand into Alec’s.


End file.
